


Feathers and Foreplay

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blood, Coitus Interruptus, Crack, Dead People, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, On the Run, They'll Do It Anywhere, Threats, Weapons, broken furniture, unsanitary sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: “Onlyyoucan kill a team with a hand over your dick and expect to continue where you left off before the bodies even go cold.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Перья и прелюдия](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843354) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> Honestly the only reason I wrote this was because I heard Mother Mother's _the Drugs_ and it just happened.

Brock’s whole entire body throbs, sore and satisfied, so much so he knows he blacked out after it. Movement nearby rouses him enough to bring him back though.

“Holy fuck,” Is the first thing Jack utters, sounding almost amazed but also very groggy. “Forgot the door’s off its hinges.”

Brock snorts expectantly, rolling his eyes towards the entryway that brandishes splintered wood and yep, the bedroom door was definitely on the floor now. Right on top of that side table that Brock picked up from someone’s curb where there was absolutely nothing wrong with it except that it had a small nick in it but was now broken and split for firewood. 

“No shit, can’t even open a door right you fuckin’ animal.” 

He barely squints through the early morning light, dark shadows draped along everything and he takes his time watching Jack from the corner of his eye as his bed mate sits up picking off feathers stuck to his dick and strips of sheets tangled around his legs before he gets a better look at the bedroom with a hand rubbing over his jaw, knuckles bruised and red. He’s got blood caked around his nose and a split lip, Brock smirks to himself, extending a leg out and knocking something to the floor that sounds easily like his handgun.

The last bits of fog lingering around in his skull slowly ebbed away and remind him of what happened prior to his getting fucked unconscious and that it wasn’t Jack that broke the door..not that he hasn’t done it before. Doors were a lost cause sometimes with him.

“Gotta buy us a new side table and sheets Sweetheart.” Jack informs, hand sliding through his mess of hair and catching a few more feathers between his caked fingers, “And pillows. Maybe some plaster or somethin'.” 

“Plaster?” Brock parrots back with an eye open glancing to where Rollins is looking and there’s a spray of bullets from outside the room and that painting is definitely unsalvageable. There’s legs on the floor in his line of sight, decked out in a black uniform and he finally remembers the full details of a team consisting of dumb shits trying to surprise ‘em in the early morning. 

Surprise _them_. 

“New window too.”

“ _Lots_ of new windows. They started this shit in the livin’ room, ‘member?” 

There’s a sudden hiss of realization next to him, “Ja pierdole, my vinyls..” 

“Buy ya some new ones..” Brock drawls, reaching out to caress a thigh, maybe grab a little handful of something more because he likes when Rollins swears in Polish.. _a lot_. He grins a little, “Gonna have to move anyway, ETA?”

“Not too long, last transmission was an hour ago, clean up crew reported to be coming in at 0900 hours. Dinn’t wanna wake ya though, since you blacked out. Ain't much to pack anyway.”

He let out a small irritated noise, “Interrupted us while we were fuckin’, don’t they surveillance that shit before they act? God _your body_ while you were movin’ though Rollins.”

Jack makes an amused sound, “Only _you_ can kill a team with a hand over your dick and expect to continue where you left off before the bodies even go cold.” 

Rolling his eyes, Brock traced his teeth marks embedded in Jack’s shoulder, skin broken and blood dried away, “Adrenalin’s flowin’ Sugar, might as well fuck with it. Watchin’ the way you moved that ass kept me goin’.” 

Jack looks down and stares, Brock feeling warm fingers brush lightly along his cheek. 

“Got a bruise going on over here, who hit ya?” 

There’s an unmistakable measure of bite to it, like there might be something worse than death waiting because someone raised a finger to him; Brock makes a mental note to buy Jack every single damn record he lost before they even step foot into whatever home they move into next and then let Rollins fuck him on every surface until neither of them can see straight just over that gesture alone. 

“Think the one in the backyard,” Brock mumbles, stretching his body along torn sheets, fingers brushing against their headboard where it’s making small sounds like it's threatening to come down any time now. Cuts and bruises start to sting and ache, muscles burn and feel warm, he’d say he doesn’t know if it’s from the fighting or the fucking but he does know each difference, knows them like a well studied map. 

“Worry about it later. Don’t feel like movin’ right now, too damn sore from your dirty grabby hands.” 

Fingers trail down Brock’s throat and down his chest as Jack leans closer, “Aw baby, I wholeheartedly apologize. You know I can’t keep my hands off you sometimes..” 

His whispers come out low and coy. Brock knows Jack’s not sorry, lying sack of shit.

“Uh huh.” Brock muses and is proven right when fingers make it down his abs, then to his cock and he’s given a soft squeeze, dick twitching in interest while his hips immediately rock up for more.

“ _Uh huh_ ,” Jack breathes out, voice sweet and thick like dripping honey, his hand doing things that encourage Brock to forget they have a time constraint to think about if they wanna get out of here alive. He honestly doesn’t give a fuck, eyes closing just before he’s breathing hard through his nose in frustration when Jack stops touching him. 

Brock hums when two fingers lightly tap his bottom lip, obeying and sucking on digits, he can hear the groan escape from deep within Jack’s chest and can’t help but make a similar noise in return, tongue swirling and coating each finger eager and hungry. 

The moan that comes out of Brock when Jack’s two fingers make their way inside of him easy and familiar, still loose from earlier with walls coated and slick by lube and cum, doesn’t embarrass him at all and he can only hear himself get louder as his skin lights itself on fire. 

“C’mon Jackie,” He grinds out, “ _Fuck_ \- ”

“Shh, baby. _Easy_..” Jack croons, voice low and propping himself up on his free arm. He leans in, nose brushing past Brock’s and presses an urgent desperate kiss to his mouth. His crooked fingers work in and out, steady and sinking deeper as they inch in from knuckle to knuckle. It’s gradual, maybe a little torturous but Jack’s constant and soon a third finger works into Brock and he’s seeing stars as he digs a heel into the mattress to get some leverage trying to fuck himself on them.

“Jackie _please_..need you, want- ” Brock drops his head back, trying to reel himself back in, “ _Please_ \- ”

“Goddamn it Rumlow,” Jack pants against his throat, wet and hot across sweaty skin, his arm pressed down Brock’s body as he works, “You’re killin’ me here Sweetheart.”

“I swear I’ll kill you and then kill you again if you fuckin’ stop,” Brock grounds out trying to stop himself from moaning pathetically, tugging at Jack and trying to pull him over and on top of him, hooking a leg at Rollins’ hip. “C’mere, _c’mere_..”

It’s all the bed frame needs the second Jack’s pulled on top and their weights stack together, a shrill metallic sound creeping in before the front legs give out and the whole thing half crashes to the floor, boxspring falling in a slant, the front of the bed board falling on top of their masked attacker. Brock lets out a loud groan at the shift, hitting the mattress with his fisted hand, Jack bracing himself still on his arm but his lower half falling hard against his lover.

“Crap, Brock- ” Jack goes to pull fingers out but a hand stops him, Brock giving him a death glare and Jack goes from looking at him to over his shoulder at their guest who’s clearly dead but doesn’t make it any less weirder now that Rollins’ ass is in full view to it, well with a base board on the dead guys face. Though, they _have_ done it in odder places.

“What did I say about stoppin’?” Brock growls and Jack’s head snaps back to him, returning again to his previous focus with a dirty little smile.

“Whatever you say..”

Later Brock’ll bitch about their very expensive bed being fucked up to all hell because of the fight that broke out in their room and the blood splatter in some places may or may not be from them. It’ll be later he’ll find another knife embedded in one of the pillows Brock wasn’t holding for dear life while Jack fucked brutal and hard into him. Later he’ll really notice they have a very tight time restraint to get out with their heads still attached. 

Later, later.

Right then though, Brock was biting down so hard on his lip he reopened the large cut across the bottom one, tongue running over when he felt the sharp sting and the tang filling his senses. Jack leans in to kisses him hard, working in a fourth finger and Brock can feel the blood smearing across his chin, dull nails breaking skin along Jack’s shoulder all over again.

“Rawls,” He pants out, fingers curling into Jack’s hair and giving it a sharp jerk back to look at him, eyes wild and dark, his stomach fluttering to the low reactive growl he gets in return for it. “Gotta get in me, _now_. Need you to fuck me like you know I like it Sweetheart because I'm about two fuckin’ seconds from shootin' you in the face for takin’ so damn long.”

Green eyes stare into him, moving his hand away after pulling fingers out and Jack smirks the moment Brock whines again, pressing down further into his space with an arm propping his own frame up still. There's a snap of the lid for the lube, eventually his free hand pushing back one of Brock’s thighs, heel of his foot hooking at Jack’s shoulder and he does nothing in attempt to prepare Brock for the punishing thrust he goes in for and does, bottoming out. Jack's leaning his head forward to nip along Brock’s bottom lip as he attempts to get his breath back from it.

“Whatever you like Sweetheart, all you gotta do it ask.” 

His grin is filthy and Brock wraps arms tight around Jack's neck to keep him there, hearts beating frantically against their chests. 

It takes Jack exactly three hard thrusts to cause the back bed frame to collapse and the whole other side of the bed to completely hit the floor and all Brock can do is groan, not giving a fuck if the roof came down on their heads next. If that clean up crew walked in he would tell them to fuck off til he came, screw ‘em.

“Our next bed- ” He moans out into the air, goose feathers floating past his head.

Jack lifts his head to peer down at him, “ -Reinforced.”

Brock closes his eyes and nods to another particularly wonderful burning stretch, the way Jack’s hips snap into it unrelenting, large hand pressing into a hip and returning the flare of pain that had lessened away when he was passed out and he’s 100% done with talking, fingers gripping into sweat soaked hair and tugging so Jack gets a move on and fucks him raw.

Above him he hears the sharp sound of air sucking back into lungs through grit teeth when he pulls harder and then a low predatory chuckle against his burning skin the moment Jack returns his face against Brock’s neck, teeth pinching at sensitive skin and marking him somewhere new. 

“Like I said baby, all you gotta do is ask..”

**Author's Note:**

> Ja pierdole - Fuck me (pretty much)


End file.
